


Stirring The Pot (or A Very Cheesy Dinner Party)

by Experimental



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Cheese, Drinking Games, Drunken Shenanigans, Fluff and Humor, Fondue, Innuendo, Kissing Games, M/M, Why Did I Write This?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-22
Updated: 2017-05-22
Packaged: 2018-11-03 14:54:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10969563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Experimental/pseuds/Experimental
Summary: There are just three simple rules for a successful fondue party: Each time you dip, give the cheese a stir. Absolutely no double-dipping. And if you drop something in the pot, you have to do a penalty: a shot of schnapps and a kiss to the person on your right.Yuuri is really, really bad at fondue.





	Stirring The Pot (or A Very Cheesy Dinner Party)

**Author's Note:**

> Please forgive this silliness, but this is what comes of binge-watching Yuri!!! and foodie travel shows. ~_~; Any resemblance to other fics is unintentional, so sorry if this has already been done. Also, apologies for all these low-hanging fruits I picked.

Victor wasn't expecting to have company. But when he arrived back at his hotel room door, he could hear voices engaged in a low conversation on the other side. Yuuri's was to be expected. And Christophe's wasn't an unwelcome addition. Smiling, he slipped inside to find out what had brought his two favorite people together.

But Yuuri's groan made him shut the door behind himself in a hurry, lest anyone out in the hall hear it. Victor knew that groan. It was the one Yuuri reserved for only those moments of most extreme pleasure. Nor did Chris's low chuckle that followed it help to put Victor at ease.

“It's so hot and thick . . .” Yuuri was saying, in that tone of his that told he was practically salivating with want. “And gooey.”

 _Gooey?_ Victor stifled a laugh, not sure which of the two of them to be more embarrassed for.

“I bet you've never had anything like it in Japan,” Chris purred.

“Mm-mm. I just hope my body can handle it.”

“That's why the schnapps is so important.” And Victor could imagine Chris leaning in to murmur this revelation against Yuuri's ear—leaning in on Victor's territory. His long fingers caressing Yuuri's jaw. Plying him with liquor, when he _knew_ how well Yuuri handled alcohol. “Otherwise, you won't poop for a week.”

Victor hid his face against the door as heat flooded his cheeks. _No way!_ He was used to Chris's candor, but couldn't imagine _what_ would prompt him to say that! Well, that wasn't exactly true. He could imagine quite a bit, and none of it was safe even for most adult audiences.

“Still, it's best not to do this right before competition. You won't feel like moving for a while afterwards.”

“Good thing we've got a few days to recover, then.”

But when Phichit whined: “Argh, this anticipation is killing me! I want it in my mouth already!” Victor knew he could no longer stand quietly by. That Chris would try to seduce Yuuri out from under him was one thing—and, frankly, to be expected—but corrupting Phichit's youth?

Covering his eyes—though with just enough of a gap between his fingers to see by—he burst in on the ménage à trois, torn between defending the younger skaters' honor and not missing a single moment of the action, demanding to know “Just what am I walking in on here?! Oh. . . .”

All three blinked up at him, fully clothed, and seated around the room's tiny dining table. In the center of which was a bread basket, a variety of pickled and raw vegetables in bite-sized pieces, and a pot of molten cheese bubbling gently away on its burner.

“Hey, Victor! Perfect timing!” Phichit piped innocently, and Yuuri beamed, holding up his long fork in victory: “Christophe is treating us to fondue! _Fondue!_ ”

“It would be a sin to come all the way to Zurich and _not_ have fondue,” Chris said.

“Oh. Well. In that case.” Victor wasted no more time, taking the open seat while Chris poured him a shot of schnapps. “Have you two never had fondue before?”

“We had it in the States,” Phichit said, “but it wasn't the same. I think the cheeses might be different?”

Chris nodded sagely. “Only fondue with real Swiss Gruyère from real Swiss cows is truly worthy of the name. But more than that, it's the atmosphere.” He speared a gherkin pickle, waving it at Victor like a bravo looking for a challenger. “To truly understand a dish with national provenance, you have to have it in the place that gave birth to it. Like piroshki in St. Petersburg, or phad thai in Bangkok. Or katsudon in Hasetsu, eh, Yuuri?” he said with a wink, though that was aimed Victor's way.

“I got this,” said Yuuri. “Fondue's a lot like shabu-shabu, right?”

“Mmm, not exactly. There are few rules, but we take them very seriously,” Chris said while the others readied their forks. “First, each time you dip you have to give the cheese a good stir. Keep the fondue flowing, keep the good cheer going, _compris_? Absolutely no double-dipping. And anyone who drops anything in the pot has to do a penalty.”

“Penalty?” Yuuri again.

Chris smiled at his innocence. “A shot of schnapps and a kiss to the person on your right—”

“That doesn't seem too hard.”

“On the mouth.”

A quick examination of their current seating arrangement told Yuuri his penalty would go to Chris. Which explained why he was staring at Yuuri much the same way a leopard stares after an antelope. “That's not going to be a problem, I hope.”

“That's a charming tradition,” Phichit said cheerfully. “You Swiss sure are a warm and friendly people.”

“We come from a cold country. Naturally we'd invent food that hugs you back.”

As for Victor, it had been too long since he'd had fondue, let alone done right, in Switzerland. And if Chris was treating, then he wasn't going to wait for any more invitation. “Well, gentlemen? Let's get this party started!” He snatched up the last fork, submerging a chunk of bread and stuffing it in his mouth before it could drip once. “ _F-fkufno~!_ ” he panted, letting off steam. It burned his tongue, but it was so creamy and decadent and worth the pain he would have later.

Chris grinned at that. Sharing a fondue pot with friends brought back no shortage of good memories, no matter which friends were involved. With a “ _Bon app_ _é_ _tit_ , and _en guete!_ ” he bid Yuuri and Phichit to have their first turns, enjoying a moment of Swiss pride at the looks of utter bliss on their faces. If they enjoyed this, he would have to introduce them to his personal favorite, raclette.

As they fell into idle conversation, it wasn't long before the first casualty fell into the pot. The weight of the cheese pulled Phichit's bread right off its fork and it disappeared into the sauce. With a “Whoops, sorry” he bent over to fish it out.

“Ah-ah,” said Chris, wagging his own fork at Phichit as though to say, You didn't think you'd get away with that, did you?

“Right~ right~. . . .”

And seeing as the person on Phichit's right was Victor, Victor had a few concerns. He looked to Yuuri, half in apology, half looking for some way to politely say they didn't have to actually do this if anyone here wasn't comfortable with the penalty requirements. He certainly didn't think it was fair to put Phichit on the spot, when he was the youngest and, at least in Victor's estimation, most innocent of the group.

Not to mention the pressure of having an audience. Chris was watching them both with the same patient intensity Makkachin did whenever Victor ate katsudon in front of him. No doubt getting off on Victor's conflictedness, the bastard.

But Phichit just shrugged. “Can't argue with tradition. You don't mind, do you, Yuuri? Victor?”

He leaned in, eyes open and a little smile on his lips, and Victor met him halfway. A quick smooch, completely friendly and innocuous and in retrospect, nothing to worry about feelings of jealousy arising over.

Quite the opposite, in fact. Yuuri was smiling like an idiot. “Awww,” he teased Phichit, who was actually handling the whole thing like a pro, coolly finishing with the schnapps, “was that your first time kissing a guy?”

But teasing, as usual, came back to bite him. And while he was ribbing on his friend, Yuuri lost his own hunk of bread in the pot.

“Yuuri~. . . .”

Yuuri started when he looked right to find Chris already leaning in his direction, his chin propped on his hand, his green eyes dark with unspeakable promises beneath their long lashes. “You heard Phichit,” he purred. Leaning over further, he tapped Yuuri beneath the chin, cocked his head. “Tradition is tradition.”

Yuuri tried to stammer a comeback but, mesmerized, he couldn't come up with anything. Except to blush furiously. If Phichit was game, then he certainly had no excuse.

And Victor had to grin, seeing Yuuri all flustered. It was always amusing to see the effect Chris had on people, men and women both, when he laid on the charm. He had an artist's touch with it: knowing when to apply it thick, and when a subtler, lighter stroke was more appropriate.

It _was_ just a game, so Chris went in with feather-lightness, pressing his lips to Yuuri's so they just fit together—

And then releasing him as though it had never happened, with a jolly “Hey, Victor! Remember the last time we were here? We took the train up to Üetliberg with Michele and Sara? She could barely keep her hands to herself whenever you were around.”

“If I recall,” said Victor, trying not to dwell too much on the persistence of Yuuri's blush, “it was _you_ she was all over, and you did nothing but lead her on. Talk about keeping one's hands to oneself, Chris.”

“Eh, Sara knew it was all in good fun. I think she enjoyed torturing Michele, more than anything.”

“Yes, but _I_ kept getting blamed for everything _you_ were doing.”

“The cost of being the best. You had a big target painted on you, Victor, a big, gold, medal-shaped target. You couldn't blame Michele for being jealous.”

The conversation went on, Chris selling the other two on the views from Üetliberg, Phichit insisting they had to all go up later and take pictures. Plans were made. But it wasn't long before Yuuri lost another forkful to the cheese pot.

This time Victor and Chris were too busy reminiscing, it was Phichit who caught it. He pointed accusingly. “That's another penalty, Yuuri!”

“So it is,” said Yuuri.

Though he wasn't nearly as hesitant this time around as he tried to make it sound, judging by how quickly he downed his shot of schnapps and leaned over to take what Chris was only too happy to give. Which seemed a bit backwards to Victor. Yuuri was even grinning this time going into it, and Victor couldn't help counting the seconds the kiss lasted.

Instead of concentrating on his own fork. Which, when Victor pulled it out of the pot, was missing its mushroom.

“Now it's your turn, Victor!” Phichit chirped. “Pucker up, Yuuri!” He was having much too much fun with this.

Finally, Victor thought, as Yuuri leaned his direction for once, and kissed him with all the heartfelt tenderness that Victor was used to receiving from him. Mentally, he chastised himself for being jealous. This was just a game, after all, and it was clear from the press of Yuuri's lips, and the way his fingers brushed Victor's neck, that he was still the only one who held Yuuri's genuine affections.

“You did that on purpose,” Chris said when they pulled apart, though in good humor.

He hadn't, but Victor hoped the show had been worth it. “I won't dignify that with a response,” he said over the rim of his shot glass, and what he hoped Chris heard was: That's what real love looks like. Suck it.

“For a day off, Yuuri's sure getting his workout,” Phichit said as he typed in his phone, and Victor and Yuuri realized a bit belatedly that photographic evidence of their kiss had almost certainly ended up on it.

“Don't post that!” the latter said, reaching across the table, while Phichit laughed, “It's just a game, Yuuri, a game!” and Chris observed that “If he can't take the heat, he'll just have to pay better attention to his food.”

That gave Yuuri pause. “Is it considered rude, dropping things in the pot?” He hadn't given it much thought before, but if the other three had been guests in his home back in Japan, and one of them had left their chopsticks standing in the rice, even if Yuuri knew they didn't mean anything by it, it would probably rile him automatically just because of how he was raised.

Then again, it was only minutes ago that Chris and Victor had squared off for Phichit's camera, posing like swashbuckling swordsmen with crossed fondue forks, so it couldn't have been _that_ taboo. Chris waved off his concern. “It's not rude so much as you end up with a pile of gummy bread on the bottom, instead of the nice, crispy cheese cracker you get if you do everything right. That's why anyone who messes that up has to do penance.”

He added for good measure, in his most sultry tone of voice: “Earn my forgiveness, Yuuri.”

It nearly caused Victor to choke on his schnapps. Though Yuuri, who was already well ahead of all of them in the race to the bottom of the bottle, merely stared swimmingly back.

“I noticed you haven't dropped anything yet,” Phichit observed.

And Chris brightened at that, taking it as a compliment. “A matter of national pride. Not to mention, I have been doing this longer than the three of you combined.” But, just for good measure, he leaned his chin on his hand, sending Phichit a smoldering, fuck-me stare across the table. “Besides, _mon_ _petit chou_ , you couldn't handle it if I dropped something.”

That sent Phichit into a fit of giggles and pic-snapping, punctuated with exclamations of “Yasss! That face! I think I just ovulated!”

After which the conversation, and dipping and stirring, resumed.

Though not without more mishaps on Yuuri's part. The third time he lost something, he glanced guiltily up at Victor and shrugged, while Chris dutifully accepted his reward.

The fourth time, Yuuri downed his schnapps with aplomb and grabbed a handful of Chris's shirt, nearly pulling Chris off his chair, and Victor suspected he might have lost his bread intentionally.

After all, Victor was well versed in just how easily Yuuri's inhibitions came down under the influence of alcohol. He also knew a Yuuri properly motivated could put a lot of drinks away in a very short amount of time. He couldn't forget a certain impromptu, half-naked pairs pole dance. There was precedent between Yuuri and Chris that predated Victor, brief though it had been and even if Yuuri didn't remember any of it. And though Victor hadn't had any reason to be jealous then, Yuuri hadn't been wearing his ring then either.

By the fifth time, Victor was almost certain tongue was being employed. Yuuri's glasses fogged with Chris's breath, and Phichit looked as though he was beginning to feel dirty snapping photos of the two. “Jeez, Yuuri, you're really bad at fondue.”

“Really bad?” Yuuri slurred. “Or really _good_?”

“Really bad,” Victor concurred.

“The worst,” Chris nodded.

“This is what beating a dead horse feels like, isn't it?”

“It was funny at first, but now I just feel sorry for him.”

But Victor knew from experience that, while Yuuri may have been horrible at fondue, Chris was also really good at kissing. It seemed to him that, for his sake at very least, Yuuri could pretend not to enjoy it so much.

“How 'bout a new rule,” he suggested. “How about instead of kissing the person on the right if you drop something, you kiss the person on the left?” This seemed perfectly logical to Victor, now that they were more than halfway through the fondue, and even further through the schnapps. Knowing Yuuri, it wasn't going to be long before articles of clothing started coming off. In fact, it was something of a miracle that so far everything had stayed on.

Victor tried not to sound too cold as he said it, he tried to make his suggestion sound casual and cheery and not at all dripping with envy, but it seemed when Chris met his eyes across the table that he understood Victor's trouble precisely.

For all of a moment. Because then Yuuri and Phichit overruled him, saying it was tradition to turn right, and Chris had to toss up his hands in defeat. “The people have spoken.” To which he added in his best Tevye: “ _Tradition~!_ ”

“Tradition!” Yuuri and Phichit echoed, taking it for a toast.

Which was just as well, because no matter what he said about national pride or skill, as soon as they all agreed to go left would have been the moment Chris's perfect streak ran out, and the Universe would have caused his bread to slip from its tines. And then Victor would have no recourse to protect Yuuri from the full force of Chris's osculatory talents.

Not that Chris needed luck. Or the Universe's intervention. Yuuri was perfectly capable of losing his bread in the pot for a sixth time all on his own, without any outside help.

This time, Phichit was just telling them about an embarrassing case of misunderstood English metaphors he had had with the other Yuri after a practice—the sort of thing that happened when colleagues had to converse in a language that was neither one's first—when Yuuri clumsily grabbed for Chris's face and gave him a smack that would have made many a Russian granny proud. It mostly landed on Chris's mouth, mostly—which wasn't unimpressive considering it was proving more and more difficult for Yuuri to line up his aim.

“Maybe you need to slow down on the schnapps a little,” Victor tried to tell him. “Like, only drink when you take a penalty?”

“Yes, Coach~” Yuuri warbled. But as he unzipped his zip-up, Victor realized that he was running out of time.

“Remind you of anyone, Victor?” Chris said with a nod to his left. “Like you, that time we got wasted on pálinka in Budapest—”

Victor was groaning before Chris could even finish that thought. “You mean that apricot-flavored jet fuel I let you convince me was safe for human consumption? I still can't look at goulash without feeling sick.”

“I'll never be able to sit through another program set to 'Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2' with a straight face again thanks to you, and seeing how there's at least one of those a season, I'm never short on reminders. Do you think Liszt had any idea when he wrote it what a great strip tease—”

“ _Shhhushushush!_ ” Victor cut him off, turning bright red. “Phichit's tender ears don't need to hear about that!” Though, if he were honest, it was more that he didn't want Yuuri to hear the details.

Phichit sat forward in his seat. “Don't need to hear about what? Victor's sordid past? His youthful indiscretions?”

Really, he didn't have to grin eagerly from ear to ear as he said it. Victor motioned for Chris to zip it, but Chris was having way too much fun at the expense of Victor's comfort to stop there. “Let's just say, if you ever want to find out just how limber our Vitya truly is—”

At that moment, however, he happened to glance over at Yuuri, who was trying very hard to concentrate—to the best of his ability in his current state—on getting his next hunk of bread on his fondue fork.

It was a poor effort by any standards, and Chris clucked his tongue. “Well, no wonder you suck at this, Yuuri. Your technique is horrendous.” He put his hand over Yuuri's on the fondue fork, as if to stop him before he hurt himself. “Someone really should have taught you how to use this thing before we started. I blame myself for your failed education—” He laughed. “Oh dear.”

Too late, Victor saw what he saw: a little smudge of cheese on the corner of Yuuri's mouth that he hadn't yet had a chance to wipe off.

“Yuuri~,” Chris gestured for him to lean closer, “you've got a little . . . Here, hold still . . .”

And, like watching a full glass fall in slow motion, feeling helpless to catch it, Victor could only watch Chris reach out and, rather than swipe up the little bit of cheese sauce on his thumb, instead smear it across Yuuri's lower lip. Which ought to have been Victor's right, not his! And then Chris had the gall to act as if it was an accident that he'd made it worse! like he hadn't intended to do that all along.

Because _then_ , of course, he had no choice but to finish what he started. He _had_ to cup Yuuri's face and brush his thumb across Yuuri's cheek—even though that just smeared cheese there too—and pull him closer. Never mind the pretense. The tip of Chris's tongue ignored the cheese sauce almost entirely, teasing the part between Yuuri's lips wider instead. Yuuri's surprise, brief as it was, melted into appreciation. He let his eyes fall closed and just enjoyed the gentle goading of Chris's tongue, and the masterful pressure of his lips which, like the rich decadence of the fondue, only left him wanting more with each taste.

Unaware that Phichit was suddenly looking very uncomfortable, so much so that he forgot to snap pictures. Just watched the osculation play out on the screen of his phone with a pained grin stuck on his face, and wondered if maybe he should have left five minutes ago.

And equally unaware that Victor's mood had quickly turned from mildly concerned to downright sour. Now Victor was sure Chris was doing this to rile him, and it was working. Whether Yuuri was in on the game or just drunkenly along for the ride, he couldn't be sure, but nor could he let either stand. When a chuckle bubbled up from Yuuri's throat as a little moan, Victor knew he had to act. He had to prove that he was the winner in this contest for Yuuri's love—indeed, the only competitor!—and he had to prove it now.

He shot to his feet so fast it knocked his chair over, which broke up the lip-lock. Yuuri stared up at him with glasses debauchedly askew as Victor grabbed the bread basket, and dumped everything that was still in it directly into the fondue pot.

“Oh damn, clumsy me,” he shouted, contrite words fooling no one. “How many kisses do we need to make up for that? A dozen? At least? Come on, Yuuri, this is going to take a while!”

And, very seriously, he downed his schnapps, grabbed Yuuri's wrist, hauled him up out of his seat before Yuuri could utter another word and whisked him into the bathroom, whereupon Victor promptly slammed the door shut behind them.

And as the muffled sound of toiletries falling from the vanity counter reached his ears, Chris had to congratulate himself. On the whole, he would call this dinner party a success. Not that he wanted to sow friction between two of his dearest friends, but sometimes a little friction was what Victor needed before he would man up and take charge. Everyone could use the occasional push in the right direction—or, in those two's case, they had the direction down pat, they just needed a good shove.

Not to mention, jealousy looked damn good on a man used to getting whatever he wanted, and no one was more used to getting what he wanted than Victor. Yes, Chris could say he was rather proud of himself. Now if he could just undo the mess Victor had made of the fondue, the _religieuse_ might still be salvageable. . . .

“Get a selfie with me?” Phichit said, shuffling his chair closer and doing his best not to address the happy sounds coming from the bathroom. “I would say 'Say cheese,' but that feels like it would be a crime in this situation.”

He raised his fondue fork with a cocktail onion speared on it and smiled for the camera, and Chris mimed going in to steal the bite. Phichit snapped the picture, then, for one more, surprised Chris by planting a friendly kiss on his cheek. Why it should have come as a surprise was beyond him, though. It was all in good fun, just part of the game he had started.

“Is kissing and doing shots really a Swiss tradition?” Phichit asked as he leaned over to help Chris fish bread out of the cheese.

And Chris cast him a sidelong glance, wondering just how well the young man had seen through him. Wondering how he could still be having such a difficult time pinning Phichit down in turn. “It's my tradition. There's really no right or wrong way when it comes to fondue penalties.”

“Ah-huh. And do you really care that much about the right technique, or were you deliberately avoiding a penalty on my account? You didn't orchestrate this whole thing just to make Victor jealous, did you?”

“You think I was trying to avoid kissing you?” Chris said, turning to Phichit fully. He was actually quite serious about doing fondue correctly—it didn't come cheap—but this was too good to pass up. “ _Mon petit chou, if_ I were careless enough to drop something, I assure you I would feel no hesitation whatsoever about blowing your mind.”

Phichit hummed at that. “See, I'm not sure I believe that. It's like that nickname you gave me. I know what it really means, by the way. I just can't be sure if it's just meant to be a pun, just in good fun, or if it's supposed to be serious.”

He glared just like Chris's cat did when she called his bluff. Damn but it should have been illegal for Phichit to be so cute and so provocative at the same time. Chris found it hard to look at him when he was like that. Though it felt like a sin to look away.

“Why can't it be both?” he said, hoping the heat he could feel spreading across his face didn't show too obviously. (If it did, he supposed he could always blame it on the proximity of the burner.) “Do _you_ want it to be serious, or just good fun?”

“Maybe I haven't decided yet.”

With those words, as if it could stand the tension between them no longer, the cheese-covered, already disintegrating bread chunk Chris had just managed to balance across the tines of his fork threw itself back into the pot. “Are we still playing the game?” said Phichit.

It didn't make as much sense with only two people, but Chris wasn't ready to tally score just yet. “I don't know,” he said, hitting the ball back into Phichit's court. “Did you want that to count?”

“Maybe?” Phichit's shrug wasn't a clear answer either way. But his eyes sparkled deviously.

Now, this was an interesting development. A challenge if Chris ever saw one. “Is that so?” He rose from his chair and gripped the back of Phichit's, one hand on either side of his head. “In my experience, 'maybe' is a dangerous word, _chou_. You might not like where it leads.”

“Guess that's something I'll just have to decide once I get there.” Sitting straight and tense and narrow, Phichit looked like he was waiting for the roller coaster to start. Timid, a little nervous, waiting on pins and needles for what he knew he had coming to him. But the lopsided grin hinted it was an act, no maybes about it. He was just going to sit back and enjoy the ride. “So, are you going to kiss me or not?”

The cheese was going to burn and the bread turn into a soggy lump. But Chris was going to do his penance, and he was going to take his time, enjoying every second of it.

Ah, the sacrifices one made for tradition. 


End file.
